Hanging by a Thread
by Tangerine Catnip
Summary: Kink meme fill, Shaun/Desmond - Shaun saves Desmond on top of the rafters, Desmond makes it up to him.


Hanging by a thread

It was late afternoon at the assassin's Florence hideout. The sun was streaming into the almost empty warehouse through the large picture windows, illuminating everything in its shining yellow glow. Quiet grunts, along with the soft sounds of scratching as a graphite pencil was put to paper, were the only noises that could be herd in the large empty space. The first of the sounds was being made by Desmond miles, as he ascended a stack of perfectly shelved crates, climbing up the steep incline with the speed and accuracy only comparable to a monkey, or perhaps a well-trained mongoose, or a walrus with a jetpack...

Nevertheless, Desmond had spent the greater part of the last 24 hours strapped into the animus, and now had a bad case of the bleeding effect right up the metaphorical behind. So now he was left to work out the frustrations of his 500 year old ancestor by climbing all over the warehouse like a spider on cocaine.

Meanwhile, the sounds of writing, and y'know actual work being done, was coming from the safe sane and normal ground where the shrewd and handsome, (if I do say so myself) historian Shaun Hastings, was taking notes on what the novice assassin came across. It was his brilliant idea that as long as Desmond was going to be faffing around the warehouse to work off the extra Ezio, they might as well do something useful and take inventory of the supplies.

Desmond had taken to the idea immediately, but had insisted on doing the highest crates first, climbing to the top of the warehouse and crouching on one of the red-steel beams, reading off the labels to Shaun who would then write them down on his clipboard, (in perfectly flawless penmanship, obviously) and add up the total stock of each item.

"Field rations!" Desmond yelled from the roof as he peeked under the lid of one of the hermetically sealed plastic crates. "The box is labeled for two hundred but it only looks about half full..." Shaun jotted this down, casting a glance up at the little white blob that was Desmond. "Half-full is not a mathematical variable Desmond!" Shaun asserted, raising his voice louder than normal to make sure that he was heard, "so unless you can calculate what one hundred and forty plus half-full is, I'm going to need an actual number."

Desmond rolled his eyes, even though he knew the other couldn't see the gesture, and did a quick tally of the packets. "There's about ninety five" he yelled back down, taking a moment to admire the lovely view from the top of the warehouse. "What kind is it?" Shaun shot back, interrupting Desmond's sight-seeing. Desmond lifted the lid again and picked out a package of dehydrated food, squinting at the package as he tried to guess what type of meal it once was.

"Tuna" he answered lamely, as he spotted the place where it's was clearly labelled on the side of the packaging. Back on the ground, Shaun added it to the list, making a little note in the margin that they were running low on the tuna meals. Then, noticing he hadn't filled in the number yet, he shouted up to Desmond, "How many are there again?"

Desmond looked from the packet in his hand, to the tiny doll that was Shaun, all the way down on the warehouse floor, and was about to repeat: "ninety five!" when the packet he was holding suddenly slipped from his fingers. Desmond made a frantic grab for it, his fingers closing just five milliseconds too late to stop it from plummeting the three stories down to the concrete below, the airtight packaging exploding on impact, sending bits of dried fish and mashed potatoes flying like the shrapnel off a hand grenade.

"Ummm… make that ninety four…." Desmond added sheepishly, He could feel Shaun's glare all the way up from his rafter. "Desmond, you need to be more careful!" the historian snapped, placing his hands on his hips in a way that could have been intimidating, if it wasn't for that fact that he was so high up that the Brit looked like cross insect.

"Oh, come on Shaun" Desmond complained, placing the lid back, and jumping down from his beam onto an adjacent stack of boxes. "Have you even been watching? I'm a natural up here!" he added, taking a flying leap, grabbing one of the halogen lights and swinging on it, then landing perfectly on another stack, giving the Brit a triumphant grin, convinced he had made his point.

Shaun was unimpressed, "you mustn't take the powers for granted Desmond," the oh-so wise historian suggested. "The bleeding effect is not a radioactive tarantula bite, and you certainly aren't Spiderman. Right now part of your mind may be convinced you're still a Florentine assassin, but you have to remember that you're still in the body of an American bartender".

Desmond huffed and waved off his concerns, "per fovore, you worry too much Leonardo." he countered shrugging his shoulders, and climbing back up into the rafters, leaving the historian hoping that the other had just made a joke, and had not really forgotten who he was.

Deciding to move on regardless, Shaun pointed out another set of boxes. "Those one's next, I don't have a recent record of it." Desmond turned and smiled, answering with; "qualunque cosa tu dica, amico mio" accompanying it with a regal bow, before hopping onto the chain link fence separating the living quarters and the warehouse, heading up to the very top of the storage space.

Shaun pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping that Desmond would just get on with it already. He had already received an extraneous lecture from Lucy about the possible symptoms of the bleeding effect. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on the buffoon, but it just seemed like Desmond wasn't grasping the dangers of his situation, and it was getting harder and harder to convince the pigheaded ponce not to take unnecessary risks.

"Uhh Shaun..." A voice came drifting down from the rafters, thankfully back in Desmond's usual American accent. "Yes Desmond?" the historian snapped, not looking up from his clipboard. "This is kinda high up…" the ex-bartender called, his tone discernibly less confident than it had been a few moments ago.

"Fantastic observations Desmond, now will you stop fooling around and get to the boxes, I'd rather get this done before the girls get back." Shaun retorted, but when no response came from the novice assassin, a sense of apprehension dawned over the Brit. "is something wrong Desmond?" he asked looking up, noticing how the other was clinging to one of the steel beams, his body tense and unmoving.

Shaun repeated the question, but Desmond still didn't respond, panic slowly rising in his chest Shaun placed his clipboard back down and strode toward the nearest steps, ascending the three flights of stairs hurriedly until he was on the highest platform, then he made his way over, going as far as the platform would let him to where Desmond was hanging.

Now that he was closer, Shaun could see that yes, Desmond was clinging desperately to the girder, gripping the beam so tightly that his knuckles were turning white with the strain of it. His face had also gone all red, his breathing coming in irregular gasps.

"Bloody hell Desmond, are you stuck?" Shaun asserted, his fingers gripping the railing of the platform. Desmond looked sheepishly over his shoulder and mumbled, "Maybe..." trying to keep his eyes on Shaun and not the forty-foot drop to the warehouse floor.

The historian groaned in exasperation, "Oh for the love of- see? This is exactly what I was warning you about." He nagged, launching into one of his usual tirades. "You go off grandstanding because you've got Ezio yammering in your 'aead, then the bleeding effect wears off and you're stuck on a roof with no idea how to get down! I mean-"

"Shauuuuuuun" Desmond whined, cutting the Brit off mid rant, "could you stuff the lecture and get me down... Please?" Desmond added, a helpless note tinting the last word, his brown eyes reflecting with his obvious fear; it was so pathetic it was almost cute. "Well, what do you want me to do? You're the fucking legendary assassin!" Shaun snapped, taking a quick glance around for something that could help them, but found nothing that would be of much use.

"I think I'm going to fall…" Desmond conveyed, trying to grip the beam tighter, but his sweat covered fingers were starting to slide from the polished metal. Shaun raised an eyebrow and commented; "Truthfully mate, you better not, didn't you see what happened to the pack of tuna you dropped? I don't think any of us would fancy having to clean up the splatter you'd make..."

"Shaun that's not helping!" Desmond cried, his body beginning to tremble as he was forced to envision himself becoming little more than a red smear on the ground below. "Alright, Alright, I was just saying..." Shaun muttered taking a second to think this over, now if only he could remember just how one went about talking someone down from a ledge.

"Err… uhm.. Come on Desmond, you have so much to live for!" Shaun tried, attempting to copy the tactic that he had happened to glimpse on late night trashy American TV. Desmond didn't react favourably; "I'm not suicidal damnit!" he exploded, momentarily upsetting his balance in his anger and almost toppling off the beam, Desmond yelped, hugging the rafter like his life depended on it(which in certain respects it did.) "J- Just help me get down already..." he moaned, apparently as impatient as he was terrified.

"Ok, ummm.. Do you think you can jump to this platform?" Shaun questioned pointing at the one he was standing on, just in case it wasn't obvious. Desmond looked, scrutinising the possible jump for only a few milliseconds before shaking his head, "No way, that's too far!"

"It's the closest one Desmond, so unless you feel like joining your ancestors you're going to have to jump." Shaun stated, crossing his arms over his chest, and staring irritably at the frozen assassin. Another long pause followed, in which guilt was beginning to claw at the redhead's gut; maybe he was being too hard on Des…

Sighing deeply, Shaun looked back up, trying to summon some more anger for the idiot, but when he bothered to look again, He noticed that Desmond's spastic trembling had faded, his shoulders now shaking rhythmically, his face buried into his shoulder. "Are you crying Desmond?" Shaun enquired, voicing the concern before his brain could mule over the implications, leaning over the railing as if to get a better look. "n-no…" the ex-bartender proclaimed, his voice cracked and tinged with quite sobs.

Shaun bit into his bottom lip the seriousness of the situation starting to really sink in, it was becoming obvious that whatever issues he had with Desmond would have to wait, the most important thing right now was getting him off that rafter. A glint of metal caught his eyes, and Shaun noticed a long cord hanging from the roof, holding a large rectangular crate suspended about three meters below them.

"What about that cable" Shaun offered, pointing to it to draw the other's attention. Desmond lifted his head up, but the look he was giving his possible salvation was far from reassuring, of course the tears pooling at the sides of his eyes didn't help. "Or is that too far to?" Shaun sighed, his hope sliding away. "I don't think I could grab it..." Desmond admitted, backing up the others suspicions.

Shaun felt the anger starting to rise again, he forced himself to take several deep breaths, fighting back the urge to flip out on the other assassin. If he wanted a way out of this situation, he would have to convince Desmond to stop being such a pussy and jump. Choosing his words carefully, Shaun leaned over the railing, trying to lock eyes with Desmond once more.

"Desmond…" he started, his tone as flat and calm as he could manage, waiting for, and getting the others attention before continuing, "I'm going to level with you mate, you have to get down from there, Lucy gave up seven years, let me repeat that for you, seven years of undercover work just to get your stupid arse out of Abstergo. You're the last known link we have to Ezio, not to mention Altair, and if this Minerva bint or whoever is right, you may be the key to saving the whole cunting planet!" The frustration was beginning to seep back into his voice now, but Shaun wasn't stopping. "So ask yourself, is this where it ends? Does the life of the soon-to-be-infamous assassin Desmond miles conclude with a stupid accident in a warehouse? Especially one that could have easily been avoided if only he had the courage to trust the skills we all know he possessed!"

Desmond was looking quite guilty now, not exactly the effect he had wanted to instil, but if it got him off that fucking rafter then that was all bloody fine with him. "So what's it going to be? Am I going to have to tell Lucy that her favourite little assassin is now a rather unattractive stain on our warehouse floor, or are you going to man up, and jump over here?" Shaun asked, stepping back from the railing and shrugging his shoulders, as if he didn't care one way or the other, turning his back on the assassin-to-be.

The sounds of movement behind him sparked a smile on the historian's lips; he looked over his shoulder to see Desmond's standing on the beam, but before Shaun could breathe a sigh of relief Desmond begun to waver a little, his eyes focused almost completely on the drop, his complexion three shades whiter than he had ever seen it be before.

"Shaun..." Desmond's voice came to him quiet and subdued, "I- I don't feel so-" the American's grip on reality beginning to visibly loosen, he seemed to battling for his own consciousness. Shaun completely lost it then, shouting; "You better not pass out on me you wanker, or I swear I will-"

He never got to finish that threat, because Desmond had already gone limp, crumbling like a rag doll onto the beam he had been standing on, but his weight was unbalanced on the rafter, and slowly but surely he began to slide off. Shaun had to think fast, He only had seconds before Desmond would start falling and-

Without another thought to his own safety, Shaun rushed forward mounting the railing, and throwing himself forward, as he flew passed it his left hand grabbed the steal cable he had suggested earlier, his right somehow miraculously finding the ex-bartender's dangling wrist. Woven metal dug into the Brit's palm, creating a stab of pain that was accompanied by a similar shock from his shoulders, vehemently protesting the unexpected strain of supporting all hundred and seventy pounds of Desmond miles.

Cussing under his breath, Shaun ignored the discomfort casting his eyes to the crate below, which thankfully, because of his and Desmond's combined height, was now just under a meter from Desmond's dangling legs. Taking a deep breath, he tried to line up the hanging ex-bartender with the crate, he didn't fancy the idea of just dropping Desmond and hoping he didn't slide off again, but even if it was a bit of a gamble, it was his last option at this point.

The cramps in his left hand getting worse by the second, Shaun lowered Desmond as much as he could, saying a silent prayer in his head as his fingers begun to loosen around the other's wrist. He let Desmond drop, the limp body colliding with the wooden box with a stomach turning 'thump!' luckily the surface held, and he landed more or less in the center of the platform. Using his now freed hand, Shaun descended the rope; carefully stepping onto the crate, making sure it could hold both of them before going over to check on Desmond.

The novice's breath was coming in slow and steady, and a quick check of his pulse revealed a gradual but strong heartbeat. It was almost like he was sleeping, or in a deep session with the animus. Shaun reached down, locking his arms around the others chest and pulling him up into a better position on the platform, resting the American's head in his lap while he contemplated what to do next.

However, in the end all subsequent action was aided by the sudden arrival of Lucy and Rebecca, conveniently showing up about ten minutes after the danger had passed. They were able to find the crane controls and lower the box back to ground level, taking the unconscious Desmond from Shaun as he offered a brief explanation of how they had gotten into such a situation. Taking a small pride in the looks of astonishment he received when he retold how he had managed to preserve the other man's life, but sooner than not, the girls had whisked Desmond away. Leaving the historian alone to lick his wounds.

* * *

Desmond's Miles let out a deep moan that echoed around the animus chamber, the sounds of him stirring for the first time in three hours quickly calling his self-appointed nurses to his side. the world slowly coming back into focus for the man lying on the bed that his comatose body was dragged onto more often than he would have liked. The first thing he saw when he came to, was Lucy's big blue eyes staring down at him, concern written all over her face, Desmond shrank back into the mattress muttering "good morning to you to.." completely confused as to why she was looking at him like that.

"Dude, Your awake!" a second voice chirped, Rebecca's forest green eyes and bob of close-cut black hair appearing from the other side, a goofy grin playing on her lips. Desmond looked slowly from one girl to the other. "Yha, it's kind of hard to sleep with you both leaning over me like that.." he muttered.

"Oh come on man, you didn't forget what happened did you?" Rebecca questioned, thankfully backing up and taking a seat on the side of the bed, looking back at him expectantly. Desmond frowned, running over his still muzzled thoughts, trying to find what she was talking about. "umm no... At least, I don't think so... What happened exactly?" He asked giving up on finding the answer himself.

"You and Shaun were collecting inventory of the warehouse, and you got stuck up on a rafter." Lucy explain gently, but her calm rendition was promptly interrupted by a impatient Rebecca, "Apparently, you were so scared, and you couldn't move, so Shaun had to try to talk you down, but then you fainted, and he had to pull off this awesome ninja move to save you! Epic story, I'm telling ya" she tittered, clasping her hands together, as she relived the epic moment, when the brave and courageous Shaun saved the poor damsel Desmond from certain doom.

Back in realty, Desmond was sitting up in bed, placing a hand to his forehead, the memories of the events in the warehouse flooding back in a rush. The exhilaration of the clime, how it all dissolved into fear, being sure his life was at its end, he recalled it all… but there was one thing he was having trouble understanding, if Rebecca was right, Shaun had risked his life to save him, him! The very same so-called "stupid American" who he spent most of his day making snarky comments about?

Desmond was unsure if he should be grateful, confused, or maybe a bit of both, it seemed odd that's all, like walking into the bathroom and finding a penguin. Sure, just as Shaun had told him, he was important to the cause, but he still couldn't see him taking that kind of chance just because he was some foretold "chosen one" After all, even if he did believe what Minerva had said, (which he didn't, and felt the need to remind everyone that he didn't on many occasions,) the historian still had never seemed that married to the assassin ideals, more that he preferred it to being killed by Abstergo.

A warm female hand rested on his shoulder and Desmond looked up to see Lucy looking as anxious and motherly as ever, "Are you okay Desmond?" she wondered, concerned by his lack of words, and the way he was cradling his head in his hands. "I'm fine, just confused that's all" Desmond admitted, sinking back into the pillows on his bed. "Are you sure? Do you want to lie down?" Lucy persisted, leaning over the other, concern written all over her face. "No I'm good, really..." the novice assassin insisted, his answer only slightly appeasing the apprehensive Lucy.

"Umm.. What happened to Shaun by the way?" Desmond added, asking as casually as he could with the chaotic trends his thoughts were taking at that moment. "I think he's in his room, it is getting kind of late…" Lucy suggested, with a shrug of her shoulders. Desmond made up his mind, "I'm going to go talk to him, ok?" he asserted, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up, bracing himself against the wall to make sure he kept on his feet.

"Sure, if you're feeling better, Beca and I should hit the hay to" she suggested, walking up to the he animus technician and pulling her out of her fantasy world with a soft pat on the shoulder. Desmond nodded, and biding the girls goodnight, he descended the steps leading back into the main room, and making a beeline for the historian's room.

* * *

Shaun Hastings was lying sprawled across his bed, having a rather intense staring match with the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing in his left hand from the nice case of friction burn across his palm, which he had received from his short-sighted heroic escapades.

The slow stabs of pain, utter sense of boredom, and his reluctance to return to his database work, had settled him into one of his classic bad moods, even the calming effect of classical music at maxim volume pouring out of his mp3 player, and in through his earbuds, did little to stent the feeling of brooding frustration that was keeping him awake.

Shaun closed his eyes behind his glasses, calling up images of swirling colours dancing in time with the violin strings, in another vain attempt to lose himself in the music, however as un-immersive as his imagination was proving itself to be, it did save him from noticing when Desmond knocked on his door, waiting for a few moments before sticking his head inside the room. Taking in the reclining historian on the bed and stopping in his tracks, waiting 'till one brown eye cracked open, and saw the American standing rather awkwardly beside his bedstead.

"Err… Hi Shaun" Desmond greeted when he realised he had been noticed. "Oh look, sleeping beauty finally woke up, did the handsome prince Lucy finally give you true loves first kiss?" Shaun sneered, sitting up and taking the phones from his ears, fixing Desmond with an impatient glare.

Suddenly Desmond regretted coming, but he pushed back those feelings, replacing them with the need for absolution that was weighing heavily in his chest. Biting the metaphorical bullet and sitting down on the side of Shaun's bed, opening his mouth to deliver his long thought out and sincere appreciations, when Shaun added, "So, to what do I own the privilege of this visit your highness?"

His open hostility, while not unusual coming from Shaun, still stung. "I just wanted to thank you... You know, for saving me." He explained lamely, the unexpected harshness throwing a wrench in his expected apology.

"You wouldn't have needed saving if you had listened to me in the first place" Shaun frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, the old schoolmarm tone returning to his voice, the same one that usually preceded a lecture about exactly how stupid he was, "But please" Shaun continued, turning the sarcasm dial up to eleven. "Don't trouble your pretty little head, after all, I obviously have nothing better to do with my time than to babysit you."

Desmond was finding it harder and harder to stay passive, his annoyance quickly outstripping his guilt. "I just wanted to thank you, ya don't need to be such a douche about it" he muttered, giving Shaun his own irritated stare. "You want to thank me that badly miles? Why don't you come over 'ere and suck my dick." Shaun suggested, venom dripping from his every syllable.

His words had the desired effect, and Desmond suddenly went all quiet, looking down at the floor, then back at Shaun, suddenly coming over all thoughtful, as if wrestling with something in his head, Shaun was about to turn his back on the ex-bartender when the other made up his mind.

Without a word of warning Desmond had leaned forward, lying on his stomach on Shaun's bed as he reached out for the fly of the other's black trousers, managing to grip it just before the Brit jerked his hips out of Desmond's reach.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" he exclaimed backing up to the opposite corner of the bed, his bespectacled eyes glaring at the other man in a mix of confusion and distaste. "But you just told me..." Desmond murmured, his dark brown eyes looking up perplexedly at the Brit. "I wasn't fucking serious! Jesus, do all you Americans take everything so literally?" Shaun exclaimed, unable to believe what he was hearing. "So… you don't want me to suck your cock?" Desmond asked his gaze slipping back to the front of the other's pants.

For once in his life, Shaun was speechless; this guy was seriously offering to service him as some kind of retribution for saving his life, but what was even more disturbing, was the fact that the question rang in his mind, instead of being immediately shoved away in disgust, did he, the smart and talented Shaun Hastings, really want the bumbling assassin wannabe Desmond miles to suck him off?

Regardless of where his mind was on the issue, his body wasn't rejecting the idea at all, a mouth was a mouth after all, and Desmond had a really nice one, his lips were firm and full, and almost perfect save the small scar across the one side.

While he had been thinking, Desmond had taken his silence for a yes, leaning forward again, taking the historians belt buckle into his hands and undoing the clasp, this time Shaun didn't pull back. Merely watching as the American unzipped his trousers. 'Shit Desmond, what's gotten into you?' Shaun couldn't help but wonder, as he felt those strong the fingers that were so used to climbing, slide under the rim of his pants.

Shaun hissed a little as his lower half lost its last warming layer of clothing, the room temperature that had seemed perfectly comfortable only moments before, suddenly too cold for his naked hips. Shaun glanced down just in time to see the exact moment Desmond lowered his head. The hood part of his sweatshirt falling into place on his head at the exact moment he moved to take the Brit into his mouth. Obstructing the moment from view, but doing absolutely nothing to mar the rush as Desmond's hot mouth closed around Shaun's manhood, his Half-hard cock quickly stiffening under the slow movements of Desmond's tongue sliding across the underside of his cock.

Shaun moaned loudly as more his dick slid into the hood; the tip of his cock pressing against what must have been the back of Desmond's throat. Dear god, where had Desmond learned to suck like that? He should have read his file closer, there had to be something that he missed, like the part where Desmond graduated from cocksucking 101 at the top of his class.

Desmond's movements were slow and smooth as he drew back, 'till only the head was in his mouth, swirling his tongue across the tip before taking it back inside, this time even deeper than the last, his lips closing around the vary base of the other's cock. Shaun leaned back against the head of his bed, his whole body was feeling uncomfortably warm, and he had long ago lost control of his breathing. Vaguely, he considered that this couldn't get any better that it was at this moment, his manhood completely coated in hot saliva, a teasing tongue never ceasing its slow slide over hard flesh.

But then Desmond swallowed, and he was proven wrong, oh so vary wrong... The American's throat constricted around the tip of the Brit's cock, extricating a cry of pleasure from the redhead, taking this as a cue Desmond pulled back again, setting up a steady back and forth rhythm that would bring Shaun to climax. Moving gradually and deliberately, making sure to take as much of Shaun as he could on the down stroke, Involuntary making short gagging noises every time Shaun's cock slid passed his tonsils. Shaun suddenly had the urge to lace his fingers into Desmond's hair, but the hood made that impossible, so he sated himself with gripping the sheets of his previously perfectly made bed.

Unable to cope with the slow pace Desmond was taking, Shaun thrust forward into Desmond's mouth, receiving an annoyed grunt, and hooded chocolate eyed glare, but Desmond didn't protest any further, simply tilting his head and taking it, working with Shaun to find a pace that both could agree on, switching to a passive role as he allowed the historian to fuck his mouth. Enjoying the hot slide of hard flesh over his tongue, trying to keep his mouth and throat loose and relaxed, so he didn't choke.

Not that he was allowed to go at his own pace; it didn't take long for Shaun to find release in the ex-bartender's oral cavity. Out of courtesy he tried to give him a little warning, but when he tried to find his voice, all that the Brit managed was a long moan as he lost control, shooting his load into the other's mouth.

Strangled choking noises came from under the white hood, and when Desmond raised his head Shaun could see why. Cum was dripping from his lips and smeared across his cheek, like he had tried to pull away but hadn't been fast enough. Giving the other another slightly irritated glance, Desmond sat up, taking a moment to stretch his back, and wipe the cum off his cheek with the back of his hand.

The sexual tension abated for now, Shaun started feeling a little awkward about the next step, unsure if Desmond would just leave, or if the ex-bartender had more in mind. "So… is that it?" Shaun asked, a very big part of him hoping that he would receive a no.

"It can be," Desmond shrugged, "but you did save my life, so rightfully, all this belongs to you" he corrected gesturing to himself, rolling over onto his stomach and leaning forward to show off his ass, "if you want to take it that is.." he added, giving his rear-end a little shake as if it wasn't already obvious what he meant.

"A-are you sure Desmond… " Shaun asked, struggling to regain his breath from that fantastic blowjob, taking a moment to regain his composure before adding, "I don't want you giving me something like this if you feel it's just because you have to."

Desmond's brows furrowed, his attitude of playful subjection suddenly taking a very different turn. Not taking his eyes from Shaun's, he crawled over to where the historian was, pushing him down on the covers and sitting on his hips.

"What if I told you that I wanted this?" Desmond asked, leaning over the historian, some strange form of anger written all over his face. "What if I've wanted this from the first time we met? You snarky British bastard who supposedly hates my guts, yet somehow felt he needed to risk his own life to save me. What then?"

Shaun didn't answer, unsure if Desmond's questions were rhetorical or not, the American leaned farther in, till their lips were only centimetres apart, and whispered; "Because if you really care about what I want, you'll put that delicious cock of yours inside me, and fuck me into this bed 'till I pass out again."

The next few minutes found Desmond on his knees, face buried in the sheets, his jeans and underwear lying forgotten by the bed. The American's legs spread apart as far as possible while maintaining his balance. The sound of the popcap on a lube bottle opening came from somewhere behind him, followed by the slick sticky sounds of the lube, (originally only purchased for masturbatory purposes) being poured over fingers.

"So how long have you had this little crush Desmond?" Shaun asked, nonchalantly pressing one slicked finger between the novice's legs. "I-I told you, the first day we- ahhha~" Desmond's words were lost when the waiting finger suddenly pressed inside, and it took a moment after for him to remember what he was talking about" - first day we met, when you called me a baby, I'm 'ohh' j -just a masochist like that.." Desmond gasped, quietly cursing Shaun for making him talk while being fingered.

"I called you a tiny child" the historian corrected sharply, but his tone soon softened as he added "-but does that mean you enjoy being called names, you stupid American twat?" Desmond practically purred under his hands, obviously loving the callous treatment. Then again, the fact that he decided to add a second finger could have helped. "Muumm, yha..'Just a little deeper Shaun, oh god yesss'.. I'm always such a pain..." Desmond admitted, rolling his hips against Shaun's fingers, his breathy moans going straight to the Brit's groin.

"yes you are, little whining baby Desmond, always needs me to take care of him" Shaun murmured, the deep tones mixing with his already sexy British accent, in a way that just the sound of it made Desmond desperate to get on with this, but he held his tongue.

"a-and I never leave you alone.." Desmond suggested, trying to goad the other into more of those sensual insults. "Umm humm~" Shaun agreed, scissoring Desmond open and sliding in a third finger. Enjoying the soft gasp it earned him from the American. "You're always so desperate for my attention, who knew all you really wanted was my dick?"

The slight penetration of those fingers disappeared, as they slid out of his now adequately prepared entrance. Desmond whined, caught between missing the stimulation and the promise of so much more. He felt the other shift behind him, and more fussing with a lube bottle. After a few moments of nothing the ex-bartender was becoming impatient. He shot a glance over his shoulder to see what was taking Shaun so long, catching a sidelong glance of the other coating himself in the clear liquid.

Desmond felt his mouth beginning to water, having to force his eyes away to prevent himself from pouncing on the historian, and handling this himself, instead trying to focus on his own heartbeat, most of the blood it was pumping rushing straight to his cock, rock hard between his legs and aching in almost perfect sync with his pounding heart, but soon his thoughts were shattered as he felt a Slicked cocktip on his entrance, strong hands gripping his hips from behind as Shaun leaned over his assassin.

"How bad do you want it Desmond? Remind me..."Shaun growled into the younger man's ear, apparently not able to resist goading the other. Desmond's grit his teeth, quickly finding the end of his patience. Giving an almost animalistic hiss, he shot Shaun a look as menacing as he could muster, given the fact he was currently kneeling with his legs open for him. "Shaun" the American spat "if you don't shove that hard cock into me this fucking second I swear to god I'll-"

This time it was Desmond's turn to be cut off mid threat, because Shaun had already thrust forward into the ex-bartender's taut insides, the words gave way to a sharp intake a breath, followed by a long moan of pain, it had been a while since he had last been penetrated like this, and in his rush he must had forgotten about that little detail.

To Desmond's dismay, Shaun started to move his hips long before he was ready. A stab of fresh pain shot up his spine, causing him give a short cry, buckling his hips to halt the offending movements. "J-jackass, slow down a second.." Desmond groaned, unimpressed with his partners brash behaviour. "What?" Shaun exclaimed indulgently, "You're the one who wanted this so bloody badly!"

"I do, but I need a second, your bigger than I'm used to... even with the lube I need a little time to adjust" Desmond admitted, "is that supposed to be a compliment?" the bit muttered, managing keep his winning attitude even when he was cock deep in hot Desmond.

"Shut up, Shaun." The American snapped, trying to focus on keeping his body loose, and ready to be fucked, "Besides" he added. "I want to relish this moment... I can feel you inside me you know..." Desmond arched up till his back was pressed against Shaun's torso, savouring the comforting body heat.

"Glad you noticed" the historian scoffed, trying to pretend that he wasn't affected by the frankly pornographic things that were coming from Desmond's mouth, but the increased throbbing in his cock betrayed his beast laid façade.

"Slide in more… I can take it" Desmond purred, lifting his hips up a bit more to allow deeper penetration. For once in his life, Shaun complied, drawing a long "Ummmm" from the man under him, moaning deeply as his manhood brushed up against that little bundle of nerves inside, "There it is..." Desmond grinned licking his lips. "Ok, you can fuck me now, and if you don't mind try to hit that spot.."

Rolling his eyes, the historian begun to rock his hips into the willing body below him, now that he had been given time to grow accustomed to the feeling, Desmond was only too happy to move his hips in time with Shaun's, every movement reminding him why he loved to be taken from behind, unintentionally making little 'ump' sounds every time Shaun bottom out on each thrust.

It took a few more of those fantastically deep thrusts, but Shaun finally hit that spot again. "Oh god, right there!" Desmond couldn't stop himself from gasping, feeling his whole body tighten up in pleasure. "Do you always talk so much… -ah, Christ Desmond, so bloody tight, - when you're getting fucked?" Shaun asked huskily, quickly finding it hard to say focused on simple words at this point. "You're the one on top," Desmond pointed out, rather coherently for someone on his knees panting like an overworked dog. "- if I'm still able to talk, you must not be doing your job right."

a grunt came from above him as Shaun picked up the pace, and Desmond soon had to brace himself against the bed just to keep his hips still, his muscles beginning to ache from the strain, but any discomfort he felt was soon washed away by the waves of bliss coursing through his body.

He had to admit, in what little part of his brain that was still able to think at all, that Shaun was exceeding any explications he may have had when he tempted the elder into this. He even would have told him so, if he wasn't concerned for the inevitable swelling of the Historian's ego that it would clause.

Inversely, Shaun seemed to be having similar thoughts on the matter, 'Muumm~ who knew Desmond would be such a good lay' he considered, letting one hand move from where it had been firmly gripping the other man's hip, and traced his fingertips over the expanse of tan skin that was the ex-bartender's back.

Then, another idle thought passed his mind, 'I think I'm going to cum soon...' Shaun paused, not literally of course, because if he stopped at this point he was pretty sure a hormone fuelled Desmond would claw his eyes out, but his tangled web of thoughts did halt and stray back to that last musing, because suddenly the thought of finishing with Desmond's back to him didn't hold any appeal, and he had this strange curiosity about what kind of expression the novice would have when he finally came.

So it was that a few moments later, Desmond found himself wondering when exactly he was flipped onto his back, but those thoughts became quickly irrelevant, as that blissfully hard cock entered him once more, and sent him back to that little cloud of heaven in his own body. His mind not bothering with anything else, that is not until the moment when he felt Shaun lips pressed to his, a hot tongue pressing into his mouth, becoming the second part of Shaun to be currently inside Desmond.

Ezio's descendent moaned wantonly into the other's mouth, unsure if it was just him or if Shaun was getting more violent, it seemed like every thrust was more vicious than the last, fucking his ass raw. A hand reached down and wrapped itself around Desmond's otherwise neglected male bits, however he couldn't tell witch hand it was, because his eyes were already closed tightly, the firm fast strokes his member was now receiving melding with the shocks of pleasure from his lovingly abused entrance.

It occurred to Desmond that Shaun was making moves to end this, however this revelation happened sometime significantly after he had given his last lustful cry, coating his and his lover's lower abdomen in a thin layer of whitish fluid.

Even though his energy was waning from the intense workout that constituted intercourse with Desmond miles, Shaun sill found the ability to smirk smugly at the cute look that crossed his partner's face. The pupils of his brown eyes visibly dilated as they stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open slightly. His expression caught visibly between stress and relief. He would have liked to observe it for a little longer, but the historian was quickly losing his grip on his own release.

Riding out the last few aftershocks of his orgasm, Desmond had to grit his teeth as Shaun thrust into him deeply, the undeniably odd, yet not entirely unpleasant feeling of hot spirits of cum filling his insides shooting thorough his nervous system.

Desmond gave an almost inaudible whimper at he felt the liquid filling him up, following it up with a quick grunt as Shaun abruptly pulled out, forcing some of the cum drip out of the novice assassin, and form an almost Invisible stain on the Brit's bedspread.

Gratefully, Desmond Rolled onto his side, finally getting the chance to close his legs, just now realising how stiff they had become from holding them open for so long. Shaun soon joined him, lying down on his left side, the redhead's breathing pattern still closer to a rabbit than a human, but getting steadily better, now that he had a second to catch his breath.

Muttering a few swear words under his breath, Shaun flexed his fingers. Just now remembering about the bad shape his hand was in, and more importantly the fact that the bandages were now soaked in Desmond's - well… A pained moan came from the other man as he tried to move, giving up after the first few painful attempts, deciding he would rather stick with his current position. Disregarding his own wounds for a moment, Shaun bothered to ask; "You okay love?" That last word slipping out before he had fully thought about what that simple pet name might mean.

"I think I'm going to need you to carry me to the animus tomorrow…" Desmond groaned. "Glad you enjoyed it" Shaun smirked, in that deviously handsome way that he does, leaning over to give the slightly dense, although strangely attractive, novice assassin another long passionate kiss.

little did I, err- I mean, the historian know, that the American was being completely serious, and that although one hundred and seventy pounds of ex-bartender my feel like nothing, when your fearing for both your life's, and have enough adrenaline coursing through your veins to kill a small whale. Doing the same at eighth in the morning, while two girls pepper you with questions as to how exactly Desmond temporarily lost the use of his legs, is quite a different story.


End file.
